


The Blue Gentleman

by MrRhapsodist



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Art, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Coruscant, Gen, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Mystery, Platonic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-01 01:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12145881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrRhapsodist/pseuds/MrRhapsodist
Summary: Mira Chellios doesn’t go looking for trouble. She’s content to work the night shift at a humble café in the Calocour Heights district on Coruscant. But everything changes for Mira when a tall, blue-skinned man comes by for a drink and takes an interest in the art on the wall.





	1. The Night Shift

**Author's Note:**

> This story started with the thought, "I wonder what a coffee shop AU fic in the Star Wars universe would look like?" And then it proceeded to "What if we put Thrawn into it?" And, well, here we are...

“Okay, so that’s two cafs, low-stim, with extra cream and no sweetener. Five credits, please.” The words came out so smoothly that Mira Chellios didn’t think about them much. She punched in the right buttons at her register, and waited for the gentlebeing’s transaction to clear. The Duros nodded, grumbled something like a “Thank you,” and then left.

Mira kept up her bright smile as she regarded the line of humans and aliens who filled the café behind him. Sixteen beings of all shapes and sizes, crowded into a tiny Calocour Heights café on a weeknight. Beyond the faded artwork on the walls and the flickering glow globes overhead, Mira could tell that the local power grid on this side of Coruscant was experiencing another fluctuation. Probably an artificial rainstorm was inbound.

It was going to be a long shift.

* * *

Three hours later, the crowd in the café had begun to wind down. Mira darted around the different sets of tables, cleaning up caf spills and the crumbs of half-finished baked goods. Scrub and scrub, then dry and polish. Repeat as needed until she’d covered the whole place.

She knew she didn’t have to bother. Any employee could’ve left it for the Aqualish janitor who came in after closing time, but then Niek would’ve marked their behavior on the next performance review. Mira had already witnessed three other people who’d been let go for missing an easy clean-up job, and she wasn’t about to join them.

In her mind, a job on Imperial Center—or Coruscant, as most people still called it—was glamorous in its own way. When she caught the shuttle from Balamak two years earlier, Mira knew she’d be taking a chance. She’d been grateful to even get this job. Some of the other girls on the shuttle had whispered about what happened to the unlucky applicants. Reduced to begging or turning tricks in the Underlevels, or becoming petty thieves. Mira could only shiver at the thought. She swore she wouldn’t end up like them. Her parents had been proud farmers on Balamak. They’d tilled the soil as hard as any of their neighbors.

Even if half of her high-born customers snickered at her accent, Mira wasn’t going to be anything less than a faithful servant in the galactic capital.

“Mira!” The cry from behind the counter turned her around. She made eye contact with Daric, the only other human working the night shift. He brushed a hand through his wavy black hair and nodded to the front door. “Can you get the register? Six new orders just came in by holocomm!”

Mira rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” She flung her rag onto her shoulder and marched back over to the counter. “Damn comm just adds to the fun, doesn’t it?”

Daric flashed her a grin. “Hey, it’s like Niek always says. We’re all about convenience for the customer, not ourselves.”

“Yeah, but a little convenience for ourselves wouldn’t be bad either.” Mira pushed the swinging door up and let herself through to the credit register. “Okay, send me the drink orders and I’ll run the charge line.”

“Sending it now!” Daric’s fingers danced over a nearby datapad, and Mira watched as names and numbers popped up on the register’s holoscreen. She tapped as fast as she could, making sure each drink was accounted and paid for in full. When Daric gave her the thumbs-up, Mira sighed and began to head back. She still had, at last count, two more tables to clean off.

Her foot froze in midstep when Mira heard the front doors slide open. She glanced up and saw a tall gentleman in a gray overcoat enter. Racing back to the register, she put on her best customer service smile and rattled off the usual greeting. “Good evening! What can I get you, sir...?”

Mira’s voice trailed off as she scrutinized the new customer. He was a tall fellow, but judging by his blue skin and slicked-back hair, he was clearly a non-human. A Pantoran, she thought. Except most of the Pantorans she’d seen on Coruscant weren’t that tall. Nor did any of them wear polarized goggles indoors, for that matter. And as he approached the counter, Mira got a better look at the man’s overcoat. It was an ordinary all-weather coat, styled in Imperial Gray, and in the right light, it seemed like the perfect attire for a naval officer. But this Pantoran couldn’t have been an officer. Non-humans weren’t prohibited from Imperial Service, but as she understood it, they weren’t exactly  _ encouraged _ to join either.

“Good evening to you,” said the blue-skinned gentleman. Mira couldn’t quite place his accent. He inclined his head in a slight nod. “I would like one cup of your house blend.”

Mira widened her smile on purpose. She often found it went a long way to accruing more tips. “Of course, sir. Would you like that high-stim or low-stim?”

“Low-stim, if you please.”

“Any cream? Sweeteners?”

“None, thank you.”

Well, at least he was polite. At one hour until closing time, that was a rare sight. Mira rang up his order, using the café data network to relay it to Daric over by the brewing station. When she looked up again, the Pantoran was holding out a credit chip. It was unmarked, which didn’t strike her as odd. Aliens weren’t exactly going to be walking around with chips stamped with the Imperial crest. But it didn’t quite match his regal bearing. Mira wondered if he was an aristocrat back on his homeworld. She’d dealt with a few of those types in her line of work. Sadly, there wasn’t a single gram of patience among the lot of them

“Tell me something,” the Pantoran asked. As Mira charged him for the drink, he folded his hands together. “Your manager is a Sullustan, is he not?”

Mira blinked. She hesitated before returning the customer’s credit chip. “Ahh... yes, yes he is. Do you know him, sir? I can get him if you like.”

“No need.” The Pantoran smiled and pocketed his money chip. “I can tell that this establishment is a popular place for his species. Surely you must have noticed it yourself.”

“We do get a lot of Sullustans here. They’re quite fond of the low-stim double whipped caf.”

“And, of course, their artwork is on display at this very café.” Now the Pantoran gestured to the adjacent wall, and to the series of paintings that hung on it. “Rather remarkable imagery, don’t you think?”

“I, ah, suppose it is, sir.” Mira fought the urge to groan. It was late, she was tired, and she wanted to catch the next airtaxi back to her apartment. The last thing she wanted was some customer making idle chitchat and distracting her from her job.

But the Pantoran seemed oblivious. He turned away from her and clasped his hands behind his back. “Mm, yes. This work is quite stunning. It’s a shame I could not meet Sian Zhur in person.”

Mira blinked again. “I’m... sorry?”

“Sian Zhur. The artist.” Turning back around, the Pantoran smiled. “Ah, but of course you were not aware.” He gestured once more to the largest of the three paintings. “This one here shows his handiwork. It is from a Sullustan point of view, after all.”

For the better part of two years, Mira had come in almost every night and walked right past those paintings without giving them so much as a second glance. They faded into the background whenever she got right to work.

It was a rather moody picture. As near as she could tell, the artist had painted the inside of a giant black tunnel that curved to the left. Small figures stood scattered around the tunnel floor, all bearing the giant ears and stocky figures of the average Sullustan. If one looked it at up close, the way the Pantoran gentleman was doing, then the viewer could see a few extra details. Like the tiny red cracks in the black tunnel walls. It never occurred to her that the painting meant anything. She just figured it was some abstract work that the manager liked.

Mira still didn’t care all that much. She’d grown up on a farm. If Niek Novv wanted to put his species’ idea of art on the wall, who was she to judge?

“So it’s Sullustan,” she said. “Good for him. The artist, I mean.”

With a quick glance around, Mira realized that the last few customers had cleared out. With Daric whipping up six different drink orders for an incoming crowd, the only ones left in the entire café were the Pantoran and herself.

So tonight was going to be a long  _ and _ unusual shift.

Meanwhile, the Pantoran had put a finger to his chin. He leaned in close, regarding the painting with something stronger than a passing interest. More like he was appraising it. Mira guessed he was someone important, then. If not an art dealer, then maybe some kind of Pantoran noble with a big private collection.

“I often forget,” he said, more to himself than to her, “that humans do not have the same keen vision as others do. You do not see into the ultraviolet spectrum like an Umbaran, nor can you see into the infrared like a Barabel.”

“And that matters because...?”

The Pantoran chuckled. “Because you sadly miss so much detail in the artist’s work.” He pointed his fingers toward the thin red cracks in the tunnel. “To your eyes, these are nothing but tiny brushstrokes. To a Sullustan, these cracks are larger. Far more vivid than you could imagine.”

Mira regarded the painting for a moment. She leaned over the register for a better look.

“So this art isn’t meant for humans to enjoy?” She shrugged. “Seems like a waste.”

“Far from it.” The Pantoran smiled again. “This painting was placed here on purpose. It is a message, you see. A call to action.”

“For who?”

The Pantoran clasped his hands together. “For other Sullustans, obviously.”

Mira got the impression that this conversation was less for her benefit and more to showcase the customer’s intellect. Either way, she wasn’t getting paid to attend impromptu art lectures. There were still tables to clean.

As she began to leave the counter, though, Mira stopped and gave the painting another lookover. Her eyes narrowed as she caught something in the corner.

“Huh,” she exclaimed.

“You notice something?” When Mira looked up, the Pantoran had turned his gaze fully onto her. She still couldn’t read anything behind his polarized goggles, but the upward curve of his lips suggested a touch of amusement.

“I guess so.” Mira shrugged. “Guess I have you to thank for that after all this time.”

“And what, may I ask, did you notice?”

Mira decided to humor him. She had no other pressing matters, and the tables would still get cleaned before the janitor showed up. As she crossed to the other side of the service counter, Mira gestured to the bottom-right corner of the artwork. “It was this little guy here. I saw the way he was running off.”

“Running off,” the Pantoran repeated.

“Yeah, like everyone else is standing around, but he’s heading this way.” Mira squinted before adding. “With, uh, a bunch of flowers in his hand? Or whatever it is he’s holding.”

Now the Pantoran leaned in for a closer view. After a moment’s pause, he nodded to himself.

“You are half-correct,” he replied. “The Sullustan  _ is _ leaving his fellows. Of that, we can be sure. But those are not flowers in his hand.”

“No?”

“Again, it is through no fault of your own. The artist Zhur has used infrared oils in this instance. Where you can only see a bouquet of flowers, to  _ his _ eyes, he sees a burning torch.” As he spoke, the Pantoran’s voice softened. He seemed to lean in closer, as if nothing else existed for him but that tiny figure in the painting. “The torch is a symbol, too. As I said, it’s a call to arms.”

“To Sullustans?”

“And to those who might share his radical views.”

Mira frowned. She glanced between him and the artwork. “I don’t understand.”

“Do not worry. It would be more apparent if you could see in the infrared spectrum.”

“Is that why you’re wearing those goggles?”

At this, the Pantoran chuckled. “Not at all. I have a peculiar optic condition. It’s rather rare among my kind.”

“Pantoran, right?” Mira took a cautious step back. “I’m sorry. I’m from the Mid Rim. We don’t see a lot of Pantorans in my part of the sector.”

She half-expected the gentleman to get upset. But instead, he merely shrugged. “You are welcome to draw your own conclusions, Miss...?”

“My name’s Mira.” She gestured to the nametag on the front of her uniform.

“Ah. Thank you for your time, Mira.”

She was on the verge of asking about his interest in the painting when Daric leaned over the brewing station. He called out, “One house blend! Low-stim! Your order’s ready!”

Spinning around on his heel, the blue-skinned gentleman walked over and picked up his plastic cup. Fresh steam rose up in a thin curl from the tiny spout on top, and he took a sip of it with evident delight. The alien nodded his thanks to Daric, and when he turned back to Mira, he paused before saluting her with his drink.

“Your courtesy and your patience are appreciated,” said the alien. “I hope to visit here more often. It is... close to where I work.”

Mira put on her customer service smile again. “Of course, sir. Can I get your name for the future? We can record your drink order if you like.”

The alien smiled. He paused to readjust his goggles, and for a brief second, Mira caught a flash of red behind the lenses. She blinked, not quite trusting what she’d seen. Of all the Pantorans she’d met, none of them had ever had red eyes.

Let alone  _ glowing _ red eyes.

“Thrawn,” he answered. “You may call me Thrawn. Good evening to you both.”

Without another word, he turned and left the café with his drink in hand.

Leaning over the counter, Daric shot Mira a puzzled frown. “Wonder what  _ his _ deal is?”

Mira stared out at the closing doors. She shivered, and then she pinched her wrist to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. With a long sigh, she brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face.

“No idea,” she answered, as honestly as she could. Mira shook her head and added, “Come on. I’ve got to finish cleaning up, and you’ve got drinks to prep.”

“Gotta love those late-night orders, am I right?” Daric grinned as he went back to the brewing station. He chuckled to himself as he poured another two cups of caf.

Mira didn’t know how to respond to that. She grabbed her rag and went to work scrubbing off the last two tables, grateful for the menial chore to take her mind off that strange gentleman. But as she polished off the last table, she couldn’t help sneaking a glance over at the art on the wall. For a moment, Mira imagined she was inside the giant tunnel in the painting.

She wondered if she, too, would stand still or perhaps leave her fellows one day.


	2. The Missing Person

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a co-worker goes missing, and Imperial officials start asking questions, Mira finds herself reexamining what she's always trusted. And what she knows about the mysterious Thrawn.

When Mira arrived for work the next evening, she was already exhausted. Between the hassle of long lines at her local market and a half-hour delay in the airlanes—some Imperial Navy shuttle had priority access for an unspecified reason, according to sources on the HoloNet—she was ready to plop down and chill with a nice drink. Maybe call up her friend Reza over at the Ministry of Finance, and then hit up a local bar. But, alas, Mira could only straighten her uniform and march through the front doors of the café, as faithful and punctual as ever.

To her surprise, there were more than just customers in the café tonight. She froze midstep when she saw a pair of stormtroopers towering over Niek Novv, her boss. The Sullustan babbled off answers to the questions they asked him, their voices modulated by their identical white helmets.

“And that was the last time you saw him?” asked one of the troopers.

“Yeah, yeah!” Niek paused to shake his head. He was still shaking, the poor guy. “I... I just can’t believe he’s gone. He was such a pleasant being, you know?”

“That’s all for now,” said the other stormtrooper. “If our unit uncovers anything, we’ll be in touch.”

“Th-thank you!” Niek wiped the sweat from his brow. His jowls quivered, and Mira fought the urge to run over and comfort him. Last thing she wanted to do was spook a couple of troops and get herself tossed in some dark prison cell. She hung back and waited for the stormtroopers to make an about-face and march past her.

As soon as they left the café, Mira breathed a sigh of relief. She went up to Niek, who clung to the edge of the service counter with his head hung low.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Pradesh,” the Sullustan replied. He made a feeble wave of his hand. “He... he just vanished after his shift last night. Neighbors said they heard a scuffle near his place, and so the Imps think he...” He swallowed. “They, uh, think he might have gotten in trouble.”

Mira’s heart sank. She remembered Pradesh Gura. The old Aqualish didn’t speak much Basic, but he seemed a decent citizen. Always made his shift on time, and he never complained about the messes he had to clean up during his shift. Once, Mira had come across him playing a game of dejarik with Daric. She’d promised not to spill his secret to Niek, who’d been out sick that evening. Looking back, she couldn’t say that they’d been anything more than coworkers, but now that he was gone, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“If he’s in trouble, then he doesn’t deserve it,” Mira insisted. She put her hand on Niek’s shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

Niek laughed. It was a hollow sound. “About as well as you’d think.”

“Want me to take over up front? You can...” Mira hesitated. She waved vaguely toward the back of the service area. “You can give yourself a break, at least.”

“No, but thanks anyway.” Niek shook his head and smoothed out the front of his jacket. It was a dark shade of green, much like the uniforms that Mira and Daric wore. “I’ve, uh, gotta get back to it. I promised myself I’d stay on duty tonight.”

Mira nodded. “Of course.”

She left him leaning on the service counter, and slipped into the backroom to freshen up before her shift began.

* * *

Several minutes into dealing with her third customer of the night, Mira thanked whatever deity might have been watching over her. Despite the hassle of her day, her shift was slow and uneventful. A few late-night arrivals by local bureaucrats and desk jockeys, who came in for a quick caf and then left. She mostly hung near the back with Daric, who passed the time by polishing the brewing stand and sharing stories about his latest girlfriend from the Outer Rim.

“Her name’s Niobi,” he explained, pouring himself a fresh cup of caf for the night. “She’s from Haruun Kal. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Me and a Korun? Well, turns out she went to the local Academy and got a taste for Core Worlders. One word about my family back home on Alderaan, and she’s just head over heels for me. I tell ya, it’s like magic being from the Core. Opens so many doors around here!”

“And yet,” Mira added, slumping back onto her bench, “you’re stuck working here.”

Daric paused. “Well now, come on. It’s only temporary.”

“Been saying that how many years now?”

“Hush.” Daric lowered his mug and nodded toward the front door. “And, oh, would you look at that. You’ve got yourself a customer.”

Mira opened her mouth for another retort, but it died on her lips when she saw who walked in. At once, she jumped to her feet and smoothed out her uniform. Ignoring Daric’s sardonic laugh, Mira resumed her post at the credit register and put on her best and biggest smile.

“What can I get you, sir?” she asked, raising her voice.

“Just a caf, high-stim,” her customer answered. The old human standing across the counter from Mira reminded her of her grandfather. He had a head full of white hair, complete with a bushy mustache and numerous laugh lines around the eyes. He walked with a straight military posture. It went nicely with his gray officer’s overcoat. Almost identical to the one that Pantoran fellow had worn the previous night.

Thrawn. Mira had to admit she’d been fascinated with him. Not only with his looks and his carriage, but with the way he spoke. She’d admired the way he spoke about something as trivial as a piece of art hanging on the wall. He could’ve been anybody, like a professor or an aristocrat or even just a casual admirer, and Mira could’ve listened to him talk for hours. Not that she’d ever found non-humans all that attractive. She wasn’t a speciesist; she just knew what she liked.

As Mira rang up the older man for his order, she turned to leave and refill the cream containers over by the wall. However, he stopped her with an abrupt throat-clearing. “Ma’am, may I ask you a few questions?”

She stopped and turned back to him. “I’m sorry?” Then, with a wince, she added, “I mean, of course you may, sir. I’d be happy to help—”

“Good.” Reaching into his pocket, the old man withdrew a badge and presented it to Mira, keeping it out of view from the rest of the café. “Wulff Yularen. I’m with the ISB.”

Mira’s blood ran cold. She didn’t want this. She’d thought she was a good citizen. Always obeyed the local laws, never asked too many questions like she’d seen some backwater rubes do, and never drew attention to herself in public. It was what her father had told her before she’d left Balamak. _Keep your head down and they’ll respect you._

But now some government spook was giving her an interrogation. Her stomach twisted. Maybe this Thrawn character was the reason why. She’d found him unusual for a Pantoran. Maybe the Empire did, too.

Yularen’s eyes softened a little. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to sit down with you over there.” He gestured to a lonely table near the side of the café. “This will only be a few moments of your time.”

Mira hesitated. “I... well, sir, I want to help, but if my manager were to see me—”

“He’d understand.” Yularen smiled. “He is, after all, a loyal citizen of the Empire like yourself.”

That much was true. Mira had often seen the wide-eyed cheer on Niek’s face whenever big celebrations like Empire Day came around. It wasn’t simply some entrepreneur’s delight at getting more customers on a holiday. She’d sensed a real patriotism in him.

Nodding, Mira stepped back from the credit register. Over her shoulder, she called, “Hey, Daric? I need you to take over for me.”

Her co-worker looked ready to ask why. But one glance at Yularen and the badge in his hand stopped that question dead in its tracks. Daric nodded, and Mira pushed her way through the other side of the service counter. She followed Yularen over to the table he’d indicated, and she murmured her thanks when he pulled out a chair for her.

They didn’t speak until Daric came up and delivered the security officer’s drink. Daric flashed a look of concern at Mira, but she said nothing. She could do nothing until the Imperial officer acted first. That was just how things went on Coruscant.

As Yularen took a sip of caf, he nodded to himself. “It’s commendable work you do here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And you have been working here for two years. Correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

With another smile, Yularen lowered his cup. He reached back and removed a datapad from his belt. After consulting it for a moment, he said, “Would you say, Miss Chellios, that you were close to Pradesh Gura? The Aqualish who worked here?”

Mira swallowed. “Not terribly close, no.”

“No?”

“We worked together, but we weren’t social outside of work. He just came in and cleaned up. Never missed a work shift before...” She swallowed again, fighting the sudden heartache. “Before tonight...”

“Mm.” Yularen nodded and checked his datapad again. “I see.”

Mira sat there, feeling helpless. She knew better than to protest or pester him with questions. About a year ago, there’d been a waitress, a Rodian named Faresh, who’d asked one too many questions about the local COMPNOR officer’s efforts. He was a mousy little guy who liked to make grandiose speeches about human culture whenever he came in, but he never caused too much trouble with the customers. Except Faresh would never give him much of her time. She’d mutter something in her native tongue whenever his back was turned. When Mira had arrived for her shift one night, Faresh was gone and Daric looked upset. Niek had said nothing about her absence. Mira had pieced the whole situation together without pushing for details.

Too many questions led to one sudden disappearance.

She prayed it wasn’t the case with Pradesh. He was too nice a being to meet that fate.

“I only have one more question,” said Yularen. He looked up from his datapad, his eyes going narrow. “Has anyone who entered recently discussed or taken an interest in that painting on the wall?”

Mira froze. “Excuse me?”

“Has anyone recently come and asked about—?”

“Yes.” She blushed for interrupting him, but Mira couldn’t help herself. The image of Thrawn entering the café overwhelmed her. In a split second, his genteel image now turned sinister in her mind. Had it all been an act? Was he some subversive agent? An anti-Imperial agitator? It didn’t seem possible, but looking at all the propaganda being broadcast on the HoloNet these days, aliens were supposed to be more likely to cause trouble. Hence the need for all the human guidance.

But that was COMPNOR trash. Mira felt that this Pantoran gentleman was different. She prayed that he was different.

“And who was this individual?” Yularen asked.

“A Pantoran, sir.” Mira hesitated. “At least... I think he was.”

Yularen frowned. Then he tapped something on his datapad. After a moment’s thought, he turned the device over to her, presenting a file holo. “Is this him?”

Mira swallowed. That was Thrawn all right. A few years younger and wearing what looked like an olive green uniform. But that couldn’t be right. Non-humans weren’t allowed into the officers’ corps.

“Yes,” she answered.

“You don’t sound so certain.”

“He was, um, wearing these goggles.” She mimed putting them over her face. “These, ah, polarized lenses. It was hard to see his... eyes.”

Staring at the file holo, Mira got a good look at the alien’s eyes. And alien they were. Red eyes that had a faint glow, even when captured by hologram. They seemed to bore right through the datapad’s screen and straight through her.

“Did he give you a name?” Yularen asked.

“He said his name was Thrawn.” Mira swallowed. “That’s all, sir.”

“I see.”

“Is... is he in trouble, sir?”

“Trouble?” At this, Yularen chuckled. He put away his datapad. “No, not at all.” For a moment, he paused, his hands folded on top of the table. Mira found the sudden silence excruciating, but she sat and waited until he cleared his throat again. “Thrawn is one of the Security Bureau’s top assets. He’s assisting me with a top-priority investigation, the nature of which I am not at liberty to discuss. And, as you must know, Miss Chellios, neither are _you_ at liberty to discuss anything we talked about tonight with anyone else.”

Mira nodded, her stomach continuing to churn beneath her clenched hands. “I... I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Rising from his chair, Yularen pulled his gray coat back on. He sighed and reached into his coat, removing a slip of flimsiplast. Handing it to Mira, he added, “This is an emergency comm code. If you speak with Thrawn again, or if you see anything else suspicious, please don’t hesitate to use it.”

“Yes, of course.” And for once, Mira felt like she was lying. She didn’t want to use this code. Not now, not ever. She’d rather pretend like all this had never happened.

Yularen threw away his half-finished caf on his way out of the café. Mira continued to sit at the table, trying to sort out her mixed feelings. She wanted to run, to cry, to go back to work and ignore the turmoil brewing in her chest.

She opted for the latter. At least Daric didn’t make any jokes when she went back to the register.

* * *

With Pradesh gone—she couldn’t bring herself to say he was dead just yet—Mira took it upon herself to carry on without him. When she wasn’t behind the counter, she trotted around the café and scrubbed, rinsed, and polished every square centimeter. Ignoring the tired protests of some lingering customers, Mira did not rest until she could be sure that the entire place was shining. Daric didn’t give her any flak for it. He kept quiet and worked the brewing station, serving up fresh hot cups of caf to the handful of late-night customers who came in and out.

It was good that no one decided to hang around for long that night. Mira didn’t want to make anymore chitchat. Not with officers like Yularen, not with her boss, and certainly not with—

She swore under her breath when he walked in through the front door.

Of _course_ he would show up now. Impeccable timing, like everything else about him.

“Good evening,” Thrawn said by way of a greeting. He wore the same overcoat as he had on the night before, along with those polarized goggles. Mira wondered why he bothered covering up his eyes, given what she’d seen in his file holo. In retrospect, it wasn’t all that weird a sight. Certainly nothing weirder than half the things she’d seen since coming to Coruscant. Maybe he really did have an optic condition.

Or maybe, she wondered, he was a spy whose goggles were recording everything he saw. Some state-hired spook out on the prowl for treasonous sentiment in the public, ready to ruin lives just like how that one COMPNOR creep had ruined poor Faresh’s life.

“Hello,” Mira replied. She continued cleaning her last table for the evening.

“I’d like to place my order,” Thrawn continued. He kept his hands clasped behind his back. The way he stood and leaned over her made Mira feel like she was back in school with one of her less pleasant teachers. “If it would not be too much trouble...?”

“Not at all,” Mira lied. She dropped her rag and went back to the service counter. As Daric began to brew another caf, she punched in the right sequence of buttons on her register. Ran up Thrawn’s order and accepted his credit chip. Once again, when she took the chip, she examined it for any sign, any hint, of an ISB marker it. Even just a single clue as to what this alien could possibly do for the Empire.

When he accepted his chip back, Thrawn regarded Mira with a mild frown. “You appear to be under some distress. Is there anything I might do to help?”

“It’s nothing.” Suddenly, on tonight of all nights, Mira found it a lot easier to lie. She didn’t know why. Nothing really had changed for her. Except Pradesh was gone, her boss was having a nervous breakdown, and there were confirmed Imperial agents snooping around the café. But Mira had done nothing wrong. She was still a loyal and law-abiding citizen.

So why did she feel so terrible now?

“I beg your pardon.” Pressing a hand to his chest, Thrawn inclined his head. “I am not quite so familiar with human body language. Perhaps I have... _misread_ your emotional state.”

Oh, now that _was_ funny. Mira couldn’t imagine a character like Thrawn misreading anyone. In two seconds from when he first walked into the place, he’d pegged her boss for a Sullustan just by looking at the art on their wall. If he were _that_ good, then it was no wonder he was working for the Imperial Security Bureau, alien or not.

Still, Mira couldn’t justify losing her temper. She wanted to keep her job, if nothing else. Instead, she blew out a sigh and said, “It’s not your fault. We... lost someone today.”

Thrawn remained motionless. “A friend?”

“A co-worker,” Mira replied. She brushed back a strand of hair and nodded to herself. “One of our best people. He was an old Aqualish who never missed a day’s work, and now he’s—”

“Missing,” Thrawn interjected. “Or presumed dead, in fact.” When Mira didn’t respond, he arched an eyebrow at her. “Ahh, I begin to understand. You were an... acquaintance of Pradesh Gura.”

“Of course _you_ would know,” Mira shot back.

The blue-skinned gentleman said nothing. His face betrayed nothing.

“I met your boss today,” she continued. “Yularen, was it? He showed me your file holo and everything. Seemed _very_ proud of the work you did for the ISB.”

“My apologies, Mira.” Thrawn bowed his head and pressed a modest hand to his chest again. “I was not aware that this information would upset you. I offer no excuse for my behavior.”

“Just tell me this,” she demanded. Ignoring the wide-eyed look Daric shot her from across the counter, Mira leaned past her register and glared at the alien. “What are we caught up in? For months, everything’s been fine. But last night, _you_ walk in here, and now we’ve got a missing janitor and Imperial officers sniffing around the place like we’re hiding Rebels. I just...” She shook her head, fighting back the surge of emotion that flared inside her chest. “I just don’t understand what’s going on. We’ve done _nothing_ wrong. We don’t deserve this treatment.”

For a long moment, Thrawn said nothing. He remained perfectly still. The only sound that filled the café was from Daric, gently setting down a fresh cup of caf onto the other end of the counter. Without a glance back, Thrawn turned away from Mira and went to retrieve his drink. He sipped at it, savoring the taste and the silence.

As the silence drew on, Mira began to realize how big of a mistake she was making. She drew back, lowering her head and averting her gaze as she berated herself. How stupid did she have to be to challenge an Imperial agent like that? With a witness, in fact? Might as well save them the trouble and go offworld before they sent her back to Balamak as a prison laborer. Her parents would have to be as humiliated as Mira herself felt right then.

“Have you considered his work any further?” Thrawn asked.

Mira lifted her head. “I’m sorry?”

The alien gestured to the artwork on the wall. Once again, he had turned to study the painting of the Sullustan tunnel. “Sian Zhur’s creation. I’ve done some research. This painting originally hung on a wall in the east wing of the Galactic Museum, before an anonymous benefactor purchased it two years ago. Its full title is _The Passage South of Konech._ ”

“And that means what exactly?” Honestly, Mira wasn’t in the mood for another art lecture. She was ready to crawl into a hole and sleep for hours. Days, even.

“Konech is a major city on the planet Sullust,” Thrawn replied. His tone offered a hint of satisfaction. “Its strategic value is minimal, save for a grand bazaar of offworld imports and a local office of the SoroSuub Corporation. Yet the geography around Konech is treacherous. It hosts massive tunnels that border dangerously close to several lava flows.” He gestured to the bottom-right corner of the painting. “You would have seen one _here,_ if you could, in fact, see it under an infrared light.”

“Huh.” Mira squinted. If she tried hard enough, she could see a few more of the thin red cracks dotting the edge of the painting. She almost imagined herself seeing the lava flow near the bottom corner. Unless Thrawn was just yanking her chain, but that didn’t seem likely.

“Most people,” Thrawn continued, “only consider the size and detail of the tunnel itself. Very few viewers at the Galactic Museum ever notice the Sullustans gathered on the tunnel floor. Fewer still even think to scrutinize the lone Sullustan leaving with a torch in his hand.” He made another pointed gesture at the figure in the painting. “Curious, isn’t it? That someone who seems so indistinguishable from his neighbors would think to leave the tunnel and risk getting closer to an active lava flow?”

The more he spoke, the clearer it became to Mira when she looked over at the artwork. And when she noticed the stylized cracks near the lava flow, she looked over at the other side of the painting, where the tunnel curved left.

To where more light, in subtle reddish tones, appeared.

“So what?” Mira asked. “He’s getting more fire for his friends? A call to arms, like you said?”

“In the painting? No.” Thrawn put a finger to his chin. “No, it is far too late for that.”

“Then what, exactly?”

Thrawn fell silent. Behind the goggles, his eyes narrowed. When he didn’t move or speak for a while, Mira sighed and rubbed at her head. She ignored Daric’s helpless shrug and left the service counter. She only had one more table to clean and three trash bins to empty before she could go home again.

“Forgive me.”

His voice was so soft and so near that Mira almost jumped out of her skin. She spun around, clutching her rag to her chest as Thrawn appeared behind her. With an apologetic frown, he lifted his hands to placate her.

“I do apologize for my behavior,” Thrawn amended. “I have tested your patience enough for one night. I believe I will take my leave now.”

Mira wanted to shrug him off, to freeze him out like she’d done to so many males who’d entered and drooled over her with filthy intentions. Sometimes literally so, depending on the species. But instead, she lowered her rag to her side and met Thrawn’s gentle stare with a curious smile.

“Didn’t you want to finish your thought?” she asked.

Thrawn blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“About the painting.” Mira gestured to the wall. “You said it was too late or something.”

“Indeed.” Thrawn hesitated, and Mira almost found the gesture charming. It stripped away some of the mystery that seemed to haunt his every step. Made him... relatable, as it were. “Perhaps I will let you figure out its deeper meaning yourself. After all, you seem to be quite perceptive. When next we meet, I hope you can tell me a little more about Sian Zhur’s intentions, Miss Chellios.”

Before she could even respond, Thrawn stepped past Mira and threw his half-finished cup of caf into a nearby trash receptacle. The sound of its impact drowned out his footsteps as he crossed the threshold and the doors leading out into Calocour Heights slid shut behind him.


	3. The Artist in Residence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira comes face-to-face with danger, and with the truth about the Sullustan painting.

When she got off the airtaxi at the third-level concourse, Mira had to stop and double-check her wrist chrono. She couldn’t believe her luck. Three minutes early to work. That’d be a good sign for her next performance review. _Punctual and organized,_ she imagined the report would read. Or at least she hoped it might. Of course, glancing down at the buggy comlink on her belt, Mira knew luck wasn’t entirely on her side that day. If there’d been a problem at the café, she wouldn’t have known about it.

Then again, if for some reason the café had closed early, Mira could still spend her evening at the concourse. Level Three at Calocour Heights offered some amazing retail outlets and late-night diners. Reza had been begging to drag her to some Corellian pub that was only open between midnight and sunrise. Said it had an amazing menu, and the ryshcate was to die for. Mira had half a mind to get on the comm and suggest a late dinner, but then she remembered it was broken, and she sighed into her hand.

“Let’s do this already,” she murmured to herself.

Mira lifted her head and walked off into the rest of the crowds filling the concourse. She merged into the waves of people as an endless array of glow globes illuminated their paths in the murky Coruscant night.

* * *

Turning the final corner, Mira came up short. She once again resisted the urge to check her comlink—damn the repair shop that wouldn’t open until next week—and instead marveled at the dim light emerging from inside the café.

She knew that Niek Novv tried to keep the lighting low for the sake of his Sullustan customers. But he usually hit a compromise, so that other species could drink and dine there without bumping into everything. They’d had too many complaints when they first opened. But now, in full view of the place, Mira felt something was wrong. The glow globes had been switched on to their minimal power setting. Through the front door and windows, she could barely make out several shapes moving about within. Judging by the large ears and short statures, she guessed they were all Sullustans. That didn’t bother Mira so much as the lighting and the fact that she couldn’t see Daric anywhere else.

As she got closer, Mira examined the front doors. There was a placard anchored to the front with a quick adhesive. She couldn’t read the characters. Probably Sullustan handwriting. But she still got the gist. Niek had closed up early. That, she could handle. But for what purpose?

And when had there ever been this many Sullustans before?

Mira blew out a breath. She approached the café slowly. Her boots clicked against the ferrocrete pavement. As she got closer, it dawned on her that there wasn’t much pedestrian traffic around the place that night. A chill ran down her spine, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop. Not until she was right up against the front door, where she knocked.

Inside, the many dark shapes went still.

Then a voice called out in Basic, “What you want?”

“I work here!” Mira called back. She readjusted the strap of her shoulder bag. “Are we closed?”

A pause.

“Closed!” the voice called back. “Come back later!”

“If Niek is in there,” Mira began to say, “I’d like to just—”

“Closed!” the voice insisted. Peering through the windows, Mira couldn’t tell which Sullustan was speaking. It obviously wasn’t her boss. “You go home now! Come back tomorrow!”

“Look, my boss is...” Mira scowled, trying to find the right word. “He’s a Sullustan, too. If he doesn’t need me, I’d just like some confirmation from him. That’s all.”

Inside her head, she kicked herself. Mira had dealt with some Basic-deficient customers in the past. She’d learned that going for too many complicated phrases only made her job harder. And by the sound of the crowd inside, the speaker she faced wasn’t too keen on his second language.

Still, Mira wasn’t about to leave. She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

“My boss,” she continued. “Niek Novv. I want to see him. Now.”

As the crowd of Sullustans inside moved about the café, Mira couldn’t help but feel like she’d watched this same scene before. Then it came to her in a flash. The dim lights. The mass of Sullustans crowded on the floor. A glimpse of one lone figure moving away from his fellows, toward the back and the right, possibly with ill intent.

It was the painting all over again.

That chill down her spine became a full-blown shiver.

Before Mira could step away, before she could even _think_ about running to the nearest Imperial Security office for help, the front doors slid open. Her breath caught in her throat. She stood, paralyzed from the neck down, as a lone Sullustan emerged from inside the darkened café. She fought a wave of revulsion and fear from the pit of her stomach. Looking at him now, Mira couldn’t believe that this cold-eyed, sullen Sullustan was the same being who’d spoken so kindly to her for all these years.

“Big mistake,” said Niek Novv. Without giving her a chance to run, he snatched a blaster from behind his back and pointed it at her face. “Get inside. Now.”

Mira swallowed. She nodded and shivered. As Niek stepped aside, she lifted both hands and entered the café. When the doors hissed shut behind them, it took all of her effort not to break down into tears.

All she could think was, _I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. I messed up._

* * *

“You could’ve just called ahead,” Niek said.

Mira didn’t try to respond. She was too busy staring down the barrel of the blaster pistol. She’d seen others like this one before, but they’d always been worn on her family’s neighbors’ holsters or at the side of an Imperial officer’s belt. She’d never seen one drawn, let alone had one pointed at her face. That wasn’t supposed to happen to people like her. That was what happened to the scroungers and the rejects living in the Underlevels. Those folks didn’t congregate up here, not with all the stormtroopers and cam droids around.

But here she was. Mira couldn’t deny it any longer.

Danger really _was_ everywhere.

She sat in a chair, with her hands clasped on her thighs, surrounded by Sullustans. They all crowded around, glaring at her. Mira thought she recognized one or two as regulars to the café. Friends of Niek. Which, now that she said it in her head, sounded a lot more ominous. The other aliens were more gruff and worn-down, in shabbier clothing that wouldn’t have made her notice them when walking down the boulevard. Now Mira couldn’t tear her eyes away from them.

One of them, close to Niek’s elbow, murmured something in Sullustese. Another Sullustan chuckled at that remark, and Niek himself smiled.

“Yeah,” said Niek. “Guess it’s just bad timing.”

Mira shivered. “Please...” She stared down the blaster barrel. “Please don’t do this...”

“Got no choice.” Niek stared her down, his black eyes turning cold and reflective like a mirror. She saw her own tortured expression looking back in those eyes. “It’s like what happened with Pradesh. Poor guy showed where he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Not Pradesh.” Mira shook her head. “Tell me you didn’t—”

“Relax.” Niek scoffed, and the blaster twitched away from her face, just for a moment. Mira could breathe a little easier. “He’s not dead. We only stunned him. Dropped him off five sectors down. He won’t be finding his way back for a long time.” Niek’s jowls quivered with rage. “Come on. You think we’re murderers? We’re patriots. We don’t just blast some poor sentient because they’re in the way.”

“You’re Rebels.” Mira’s hands tightened into fists on her lap. She struggled to breathe, let alone to get the rest of her words out. “I... I don’t know _what_ you’re capable of, Niek. I thought I knew you. I _trusted_ you.”

“You should only trust your own kind,” Niek replied. He jerked a thumb over her shoulder at his fellows. “I learned that a long time ago. Each to their own.”

As he spoke, several of the Sullustans nodded and murmured in agreement. Mira drew in a shallow breath and steeled herself to look above the blaster. To stare directly into Niek’s eyes, channeling the anger and terror that coursed through her.

“You won’t get away with this,” she insisted.

“And you won’t make it out of the Underlevels.” Niek leveled the blaster at her face again. Thumbed it from kill to stun. “Good luck with that.”

Breathing hard, Mira closed her eyes. She waited for the end to come, and she prayed it’d be fast.

A shot rang out.

It came from behind, and Mira screamed.

When her eyes flew open, she saw Niek’s blaster whip over her head and return fire. Several dozen blaster shots—all stun bolts—coursed through the air over her head. Mira ducked and crumpled to the floor, as the host of Sullustans ran for cover or returned fire from their own concealed blasters. The air quickly became noxious with the fume of plasma discharge, and Mira shut her eyes against the overwhelming horror of it all. She curled up into a fetal position and tried to wait it out.

But the firefight was over in a few minutes, with easily a dozen of the aliens knocked prone on the floor.

Mira peeked out from her chair. When she saw the white armored boots marching past, she glanced up at the squad of stormtroopers that entered the café. They had the red markings of local shock troops, and she could hear them calling out to one another in their modulated voices.

“ _Get them up by the wall!_ ”

“ _Sergeant! Over here!_ ”

“ _Back area is clear, sir! All hostiles accounted for!_ ”

One of them turned and offered Mira a hand—or, more accurately, a white-armored gauntlet. She shivered, but she pushed past her fear and accepted the hand up to her feet.

“Do you need medical attention?” the trooper asked.

Mira shook her head.

“Wait here,” he ordered. “The commander would like to speak with you.”

“Commander?” Mira repeated.

“Indeed,” said a sibilant voice behind her.

Spinning around, Mira turned and locked eyes with Thrawn. She needed a moment to realize that he wasn’t wearing his polarized goggles anymore. She stared into his glowing red eyes, and she tried not to panic. On any other encounter, Mira would’ve said they looked demonic. But the concerned frown he wore put her at ease, oddly enough. As did the stark white uniform he wore, complete with officer’s insignia.

“You have my sincerest apologies,” Thrawn added, putting a hand to his breast and inclining his head. “It was not my intent to let you fall into this trap.”

“You set this up?” Mira asked.

Thrawn offered a small smile. “We planned around what we knew to be a gathering. Your employer, as you’ve come to learn, is not who he claims to be.”

“A Rebel.”

“A freedom fighter, in his eyes. Someone who would like to see his homeworld free of Imperial occupation. But, of course, he needed allies. And he knew to strike from an innocuous place. And where better than in the heart of the Empire?”

Mira frowned. “How could you possibly know all that?”

Thrawn regarded her for a moment. “I saw it in his work, Miss Chellios. As did you.”

She blinked. “The painting.”

When she turned around, she saw that the painting was still on the wall. Where it had always been. At that exact moment, however, a pair of stormtroopers were removing it. Mira watched, more than a little amazed, as they carefully set the artwork down into a cargo crate. When the crate was moved onto a repulorsled, she stepped out of their way as the troopers moved the piece right through the front doors of the café, as if this were merely routine for them.

“As one of the Emperor’s servants,” Thrawn continued, “I have a duty to root out and neutralize all those who would oppose his rule or subvert the order that his Empire brings to the galaxy. In the course of my duties, I have learned to take an interest in art, insofar as it allows me to better understand the way my opponents think. To know their art is to know their deeper selves. Know that, and you can discern their weakness.” His smile turned severe, and he gestured past Mira’s shoulder. “As you saw here today, Miss Chellios.”

Turning around again, Mira watched two stormtroopers flank Niek Novv. They bound his wrists with stun cuffs and marched him toward the front exit. As they came closer, Thrawn lifted a hand, and the troopers halted.

Stepping around Mira, the blue-skinned gentleman leaned close to the Sullustan’s face. Mira was ready to see him gloat or heap scorn onto the defeated alien. She’d seen plenty of officers do that to troublemakers on the street. But instead, Thrawn reached out and shook the Sullustan’s hand, much to everyone’s surprise. Including Niek’s.

“Despite our differences, sir,” said Thrawn, “I do happen to be an admirer of your work.”

“You know nothing of my work,” Niek replied, refusing to lift his eyes.

“On the contrary. I have seen your _Konech_ series many times at the Galactic Museum. Your technique, if I may so, is sublime. Most human artists cannot compare to your shading.”

Mira frowned. “His work?” Then, slowly, as the pieces in her head finally came together, she added, “Oh. _Oh._ So he’s...?”

A light chuckle escaped Thrawn’s lips. He turned to her with a pleased smile. “Quite so. Allow me to introduce Sian Zhur, premier artist, café owner, and the head of the local cell of the Sullustan Resistance.”

Lifting his head, Sian Zhur—not Niek Novv—offered a cold stare. “Imperial scum. You would destroy my art if given the chance.”

“Perish the thought.” Again, Thrawn pressed a hand to his breast. “ _The Passage South of Konech_ is a marvel of light and shadow that I would never deny to the public. Your political stance may have inspired the piece, but it deserves to be seen and debated, not burned like mere garbage.” Thrawn drew himself up to his full height. “You have my word, sir. Your works _will_ endure.”

Sian offered no reply. He stared back with nothing short of outright contempt for the Imperial. And yet, as Mira watched, she thought she could detect something shift in his eyes. A slight gleam of amazement. One she’d seen in him before, when she’d only looked at him as a mere supervisor during a sit-down for another work review. In that moment, she couldn’t decide which person she saw in him now: the defiant resistance fighter or the tired old man who’d worked alongside her at the café.

In either case, Mira wouldn’t say another word to him. The stormtroopers led him off, and Thrawn turned back to her with a curious smile.

“In any case, Miss Chellios,” he began to say.

Mira lifted her head. “I...” Then, surprised at her soft tone, she added, “Please, call me Mira.”

Thrawn arched an eyebrow. “Very well. I wanted to thank you, Mira, in any case. Though you did not realize it before, your help with our investigation has proved most useful. Because of your insight, Colonel Yularen has effectively closed the case on a dedicated search for dissidents within Imperial Center.”

“My insight?”

“Concerning the painting.” Thrawn gestured to the now-empty wall. “It _was_ you, after all, who judged that the lone figure depicted in the tunnel was fleeing the fire at Konech. A clear admission of guilt when one considers the talent of Sian Zhur.”

Mira tried for a smile. “Well, I...” She coughed into her hand. “I’m... glad I could help.”

Truth be told, she was tired and afraid. Tired of being tossed around with new developments like resistance cells in her café and having blasters shoved in her face. And afraid that she was no longer an upstanding citizen working toward a better future. Now she’d be caught in the crossfire of another petty battle. Reza had told Mira stories about places that the Empire had shut down to prevent a riot, even humble restaurants and cantinas where only a single fistfight had broken out. She’d never imagined it could happen here.

 _Guess I’ll be asking Reza for help finding work,_ Mira thought bitterly. She tried to hide it with a blank smile spread across her face.

“Indeed.” Thrawn scanned the interior of the café for a second or two. “You understand, of course, that we will need to close this establishment for a few days. Merely standard procedure, I’m afraid. The ISB would like to be thorough in their search for contraband and weapons.” When Mira opened her mouth for a question, the alien stopped her with an upraised hand. “But rest assured, it will open again. Under new management.”

That old shiver came back again.

“New management?” Mira asked.

“Yes.” Thrawn nodded. “And I believe we have already found an excellent candidate.”

* * *

“Okay, so that’s three cafs, high-stim, with cream and sweetener. That’ll be eight credits, please.” The words came out so smoothly from Daric’s mouth that, watching from the other side of the counter, Mira felt a tiny surge of pride. He was getting better up at the register. In response, the Umbaran nodded her thanks and moved down the counter, letting the next customer in line take her place.

Three months later, the café had gotten back on its feet. Things had been hard at first, what with the lingering fears over another shutdown. But as time went on, some of the regulars came back, and business picked up again. Mira found that she had a flair for accounting that made her new job a little easier. In the meantime, she’d given Pradesh Gura a raise once he was returned; a fellow Aqualish from the Underlevels had given him shelter during his ordeal, and Mira was determined to make him feel right at home.

And with Daric manning the register, he’d trained his girlfriend Niobi to be his replacement. Compared to Daric, Niobi was just as diligent. The Korun was a little wary around Mira at first, but after reassuring her that she wasn’t some Imperial toady sent to monitor them, the other woman found herself fitting in well. At the moment, Mira watched her work the brewing station with ease. Her braided hair went nicely with the new, non-Sullustan decor of the place.

Mira bent over her datapad behind the counter. She reexamined her figures for the day. At their current rate, they’d recoup some of their losses by the end of the next quarter.

 _All in all,_ she thought, _not bad for a farmer’s daughter._

Someone cleared their throat, and Mira looked up from her datapad. Her eyes went wide.

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked.

“My apologies for disturbing you.” Yularen smiled and brushed a piece of lint from the front of his gray overcoat. “I’m not here on official business, I assure you.”

“Oh.” Then, thinking fast, Mira turned and whispered to Daric, “His drink’s on the house.”

“Got it,” Daric replied, not even missing a beat at the register’s touchscreen.

Yularen frowned. “That won’t be necessary. I’m happy to pay for—”

“It’s our pleasure.” Mira smiled tightly. “For letting us reopen after the incident.”

“Indeed.” Reaching into his overcoat, the old man produced a small black envelope. He slid it across the counter toward Mira. “As it happens, I’m here at the request of our mutual friend. He regrets that he couldn’t be here himself, but he’s currently offworld on Imperial business. Then he asked if I might come by and deliver these myself.” Yularen’s eyes crinkled with silent humor. “I’m glad I accepted, if only to enjoy more of your fine caf.”

“Ah, th-thank you, sir.” Mira swallowed. When she looked down at the envelope, a superstitious chill fell over her. Like the moment when she’d first disembarked from the shuttle that brought her to Coruscant. Or when she’d spotted the Sullustans crowding the inside of the café.

But Mira didn’t hesitate. She picked up the envelope.

“Can you give our mutual friend my thanks?” she asked.

Yularen nodded. “Of course. Good evening, Miss.”

He turned and let Daric ring him up for his drink order. Meanwhile, Mira stepped around to where there were less prying eyes from her customers and opened the envelope. She stared with bated breath at the contents. Her heart skipped a beat, and she had to tell herself that this was nothing. Merely a kind gesture. Nothing else needed to be read into the act. Or so Mira hoped anyway.

Inside were two tickets, printed out on flimsiplast. Behind them was a note, handwritten on a folded slip of office stationery, emblazoned with the Imperial crest.

> _I hereby invite you and a friend to a private tour of the east wing of the Galactic Museum. I believe that you will find a most familiar work of art hanging on one of the walls there. The docent will appreciate having an educated viewer on the premises._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Grand Admiral Thrawn_
> 
> _Seventh Imperial Fleet_

Mira lowered the note back into place. As she palmed the tickets into her pocket, she closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe. A few deep inhales and exhales brought her back to reality, and when she opened her eyes, she caught sight of Daric’s toothy grin.

“Got plans?” he asked. “Maybe with someone who owns a Star Destroyer?”

In that moment, Mira couldn’t help but picture the admiral standing at the bridge of his ship, giving out orders, running some analysis on a new opponent, and generally inspiring awe in his crew. She still didn’t know much about him, and their correspondence since the raid had been nonexistent. He had bid her farewell with one last smile before leading his troops out the door. With no hint of an appearance or a word from him since then.

Until now. Three months to the date, in fact. Nice to know that some beings in the universe still valued being punctual and organized.

“What a shame.” Mira flashed Daric the pair of museum tickets from inside her pocket. “And I was _almost_ going to give you and Niobi these. Now you’ll have to work an extra-long shift while I take a night off.”

Daric’s face lost its color, not that there had been much there to begin with. “Well, _damn._ Sorry I said anything.” He swallowed. “Uh, boss.”

Mira winked. “And don’t you forget it.”


End file.
